The Book of Lost Tales, Part 1

by J. R. R. Tolkien

  Now when all were thus come together, then spake Manwë to them and told the tidings of Sorontur and how the chase had failed, but at that time the Gods were wildered in the gloom and had little counsel, and sought each one his home and places of old delight now dead, and there sat in silence and dark pondering. Yet some fared ever and anon out upon the plain and gazed wistfully at the faded Trees as though those withered boughs would one day burgeon with new light: but this came not to pass, and Valinor was full of shadows and of gloom, and the Elves wept and could not be comforted, and the Noldoli had bitter sorrow in the northern lands.

  Thereafter in a great time it pierced the grief and the weariness of the Gods that light is gone from Valinor for ever, and that never again will those Trees bloom again at their appointed times. Only the light of the stars remained, save where a glow lay about the fountain of Kulullin playing still or a pale gleam lingered nigh deep Telimpë,8 vat of dreams. Yet even these were dimmed and tarnished, for the Trees bore dew no more for their replenishment.

  Wherefore does Vána arise and seek Lórien, and with them go Urwendi and Silmo9 and many of both Vali and the Elves; and they gather much light of gold and silver in great vessels and fare sadly to the ruined Trees. There singeth Lórien most wistful songs of magic and enchantment about the stock of Silpion, and he bid water his roots with the radiance of Telimpë and this was lavishly done, albeit small store thereof remained now in the dwellings of the Gods. In like manner doth Vána, and she sings old golden songs of the happier days, and bids her maidens dance their bright dances even such as they were used to dance upon the sward of the rose-gardens nigh Kulullin, and as they danced she flooded the roots of Laurelin with streams from out her golden jars.

  Yet all their singing and enchantment is of little worth, and though the roots of the Trees seem to drink all that they may pour yet can they see no stir of life renewed nor faintest gleam of light; nor withered leaf glows with sap nor blossom lifts its drooping stem. Indeed in the frenzy of their grief they had poured out all the last remaining stores of brightness that the Gods retained, had not of a fortune Manwë and Aulë come upon them in that hour, being drawn thither by their singing in the gloom, and stayed them, saying: “Lo, O Vána, and thou O Lórien, what is this rashness? And wherefore did ye not first take counsel of your brethren? For know ye not that that which ye spill unthinking upon the earth is become more precious than all the things the world contains; and when it is gone perchance not all the wisdom of the Gods may get us more.”

  Then Vána said: “Pardon, O Manwë Súlimo, and let my sorrow and my tears be my excuse; yet aforetime did this draught fail never to refresh the heart of Laurelin, and she bare ever in return a fruit of light more plentiful than we gave; and methought the Gods sat darkly in their halls and for the weight of their grief essayed no remedy of their ills. But behold now have Lórien and I put forth our spells and nought may they avail,” and Vána wept.

  Now was it the thought of many that those twain Lórien and Vána might not avail to heal the wounds of Laurelin and Silpion, in that no word of the Earth-lady, mother of magics, was mingled in their spells. Therefore many said: “Let us seek Palúrien, for of her magic maybe these Trees shall again know some portion of their ancient glory—and then if light be renewed Aulë and his craftsmen may repair the hurts of our fair realm, and happiness will be once more twixt Erumáni and the Sea”10—but of the darkness and ill days that had long been without the hills few recked or thought.

  Now therefore they called for Yavanna, and she came and asked them what they would, and hearing she wept and spake before them, saying: “Know ye, O Valar, and ye sons and daughters of the Eldar, Children of Ilúvatar, first offspring of the forests of the Earth, that never may these Two Trees bloom again, and others like them may not be brought to life for many many ages of the world. Many things shall be done and come to pass, and the Gods grow old, and the Elves come nigh to fading, ere ye shall see the rekindling of these Trees or the Magic Sun relit,” and the Gods knew not what she meant, speaking of the Magic Sun, nor did for a long while after. But Tulkas hearing said: “Why speakest thou these words, O Kémi Palúrien, for foretelling is not thy wont, and that of evil least of all?” And others there were who said: “Ay, and never before has Kémi the Earth-lady been hard of counsel or lacked a spell of deepest virtue,” and they besought her to put forth her power. But Yavanna said: “’Tis of fate and the Music of the Ainur. Such marvels as those Trees of gold and silver may even the Gods make but once, and that in the youth of the world; nor may all my spells avail to do what ye now ask.”

  Then said Vána: “How then sayest thou, Aulë, mighty contriver, who art called i·Talka Marda—Smith of the World—for the might of thy works, how are we to obtain light that is needful to our joy? For what is Valinor without light, or what art thou an thou losest thy skill, as, meseems, in this hour thy spouse has done?”

  “Nay,” said Aulë, “light may not be fashioned by smithcraft, O Vána-Laisi, nor can any even of the Gods devise it, if the sap of the Trees of wonder be dried for ever.” But Palúrien answering also said: “Lo, O Tuivána, and ye beside of the Vali and of the Elves, think ye only and always of Valinor, forgetting the world without?—for my heart saith to me that already were it time for the Gods to take up once more the battle for the world and expel therefrom the powers of Melko ere they be waxen to o’erwhelming strength.” But Vána comprehended not Palúrien’s mind, thinking only of her Tree of gold, and she abode ill-content; but Manwë and Varda, and with them Aulë and Yavanna, fared thence, and in secret conclave they took deep and searching counsel one of another, and at the last they bethought them of a rede of hope. Then did Manwë call together all the folk of Valinor once more; and that great throng was gathered even in Vána’s bower amidst her roses, where Kulullin’s fountains were, for the plain without lay now all cold and dark. There came even the leaders of the Elves and sat at the feet of the Gods, nor had that before been done; but when all were come together Aulë arose and said: “Hearken ye all. A rede has Manwë Súlimo Valatúru* to declare, and the mind of the Earth-lady and of the Queen of the Stars is therein, nor yet is my counsel absent.”

  Then was there a great silence that Manwë might speak, and he said: “Behold O my people, a time of darkness has come upon us, and yet I have it in mind that this is not without the desire of Ilúvatar. For the Gods had well-nigh forgot the world that lies without expectant of better days, and of Men, Ilúvatar’s younger Sons that soon must come. Now therefore are the Trees withered that so filled our land with loveliness and our hearts with mirth that wider desires came not into them, and so behold, we must turn now our thoughts to new devices whereby light may be shed upon both the world without and Valinor within.”

  Then told he them concerning those stores of radiance they still possessed; for of silver light they had no great store save only that that yet lay in Telimpë, and a lesser measure that Aulë had in basons in his smithy. Some indeed had the Eldar lovingly saved in tiny vessels as it flowed and wasted in the soils about the stricken bole, but it was little enough.

  Now the smallness of their store of white light was due to many causes, in that Varda had used greatly of it when she kindled mighty stars about the heavens, both at the coming of the Eldar and at other times. Moreover that Tree Silpion bore dew of light less richly far than Laurelin had been wont to do, and nonetheless, for it was less hot and fiery-subtle, did the Gods and Elves have need of it always in their magic crafts, and had mingled it with all manner of things that they devised, and in this were the Noldoli the chief.

  Now golden light not even the Gods could tame much to their uses, and had suffered it to gather in the great vat Kulullin to the great increase of its fountains, or in other bright basons and wide pools about their courts, for the health and glory of its radiance was very great. ’Tis said indeed that those first makers of jewels, of whom Fëanor has the greatest fame, alone of the Eldar knew the secret of subtly taming golden light to t
heir uses, and they dared use their knowledge but very sparingly, and now is that perished with them out of the Earth. Yet even of this golden radiance was there no unfailing source, now that Laurelin dripped her sweet dew no more. Of this necessity did Manwë shape his plan, and it was caught from that very sowing of the stars that Varda did of yore; for to each of the stars had she given a heart of silver flame set in vessels of crystals and pale glass and unimagined substances of faintest colours: and these vessels were some made like to boats, and buoyed by their hearts of light they fared ever about Ilwë, yet could they not soar into the dark and tenuous realm of Vaitya that is outside all. Now winged spirits of the utmost purity and beauty—even the most ethereal of those bright choirs of the Mánir and the Súruli who fare about the halls of Manwë on Taniquetil or traverse all the airs that move upon the world—sate in those starry boats and guided them on mazy courses high above the Earth, and Varda gave them names, but few of these are known.

  Others there were whose vessels were like translucent lamps set quivering above the world, in Ilwë or on the very confines of Vilna and the airs we breathe, and they flickered and waned for the stirring of the upper winds, yet abode where they hung and moved not; and of these some were very great and beautiful and the Gods and Elves among all their riches loved them; and thence indeed the jewel-makers catch their inspiration. Not least did they love Morwinyon of the west, whose name meaneth the glint at dusk, and of his setting in the heavens much has been told; and of Nielluin too, who is the Bee of Azure, Nielluin whom still may all men see in autumn or in winter burning nigh the foot of Telimektar son of Tulkas whose tale is yet to tell.

  But lo! (said Lindo) the beauty of the stars hath drawn me far afield, and yet I doubt not in that great speech, the mightiest Manwë ever spake before the Gods, mention he made of them yet more loving than was mine. For behold, he desired in this manner to bring the hearts of the Gods to consider his design, and having spoken of the stars he shaped thus his final words: “Behold,” said Manwë, “this is now the third essay of the Gods to bring light into dark places, and both the Lamps of the North and South, and the Trees of the plain, Melko hath brought to ruin. Now in the air only hath Melko no power for ill, wherefore it is my rede that we build a great vessel brimming with golden light and the hoarded dews of Laurelin, and this do set afloat like a mighty ship high above the dark realms of the Earth. There shall it thread far courses through the airs and pour its light on all the world twixt Valinórë and the Eastern shores.”

  Now Manwë designed the course of the ship of light to be between the East and West, for Melko held the North and Ungweliant the South, whereas in the West was Valinor and the blessed realms, and in the East great regions of dark lands that craved for light.

  Now it is said (quoth Lindo) that, whereas certain of the Gods of their divine being might, an they wished, fare with a great suddenness of speed through Vilna and the low airs, yet might none even of the Valar, not Melko himself, nor any other save Manwë and Varda and their folk alone avail to pass beyond: for this was the word of Ilúvatar when he sped them to the world at their desire, that they should dwell for ever within the world if once they entered it, nor should leave it, until its Great End came, being woven about it in the threads of its fate and becoming part thereof. Yet more, to Manwë alone, knowing the purity and glory of his heart, did Ilúvatar grant the power of visiting the uttermost heights; and breathing the great clear Serene which lies so far above the world that no finest dust of it, nor thinnest odour of its lives, nor faintest echo of its song or sorrow comes there; but far below it gleams palely beneath the stars and the shadows of the Sun and Moon faring back and forth from Valinor flutter upon its face. There walks Manwë Súlimo often far out beyond the stars and watches it with love, and he is very near the heart of Ilúvatar.

  But this has ever been and is yet the greatest bitterness to Melko, for in no wise of himself could he now forsake the bosom of the Earth, and belike ye shall yet hear how mightily his envy was increased when the great vessels of radiance set sail; but now is it to tell that so moving were the words and so great their wisdom that11 the most part of the Gods thought his purpose good, and they said: “Let Aulë busy himself then with all his folk in the fashioning of this ship of light”, and few said otherwise, though ’tis told that Lórien was little pleased, fearing lest shadow and quiet and secret places ceased to be, and of a surety Vána might think of little else for the greatness of her vain desire to see the rekindling of the Trees.

  Then said Aulë: “The task ye set me is of the utmost difficulty, yet will I do all that I may therein,” and he begged the aid of Varda the starfashioner, and those twain departed and were lost in the gloom a great while.

  The narrative continues with an account of the failure of Aulë and Varda to devise any substance that was not ‘too gross to swim the airs or too frail to bear the radiance of Kulullin’ and when this was made known Vána and Lórien asked that, since Manwë’s design had failed, he should command Yavanna to attempt the healing of the Trees.

  At length therefore did Manwë bid Yavanna to put forth her power, and she was loath, but the clamour of the folk constrained her, and she begged for some of the radiance of white and gold; but of this would Manwë and Aulë spare only two small phials, saying that if the draught of old had power to heal the Trees already had they been blooming, for Vána and Lórien had poured it unstintingly upon their roots. Then sorrowfully Yavanna stood upon the plain and her form trembled and her face was very pale for the greatness of the effort that her being put forth, striving against fate. The phial of gold she held in her right hand and the silver in her left, and standing between the Trees she lifted them on high, and flames of red and of white arose from each like flowers, and the ground shook, and the earth opened, and a growth of flowers and plants leapt up therefrom about her feet, white and blue about her left side and red and gold about her right, and the Gods sat still and in amaze. Then going she cast each phial upon its proper Tree and sang the songs of unfading growth and a song of resurrection after death and withering; and suddenly she sang no more. Midway she stood between the Trees and utter silence fell, then there was a great noise heard and none knew what passed, but Palúrien lay swooning on the Earth; but many leapt beside her and raised her from the ground, and she trembled and was afraid.

  “Vain, O children of the Gods,” she cried, “is all my strength. Lo, at your desire I have poured my power upon the Earth like water, and like water the Earth has sucked it from me—it is gone and I can do no more.” And the Trees stood still gaunt and stark, and all the companies wept beholding her, but Manwë said: “Weep not, O children of the Gods, the irreparable harm, for many fair deeds may be yet to do, and beauty hath not perished on the earth nor all the counsels of the Gods been turned to nought” but nonetheless folk left that place in sorrow, save Vána only, and she clung to the bole of Laurelin and wept.

  Now was the time of faintest hope and darkness most profound fallen on Valinor that was ever yet; and still did Vána weep, and she twined her golden hair about the bole of Laurelin and her tears dropped softly at its roots; and even as the dew of her gentle love touched that tree, behold, a sudden pale gleam was born in those dark places. Then gazed Vána in wonder, and even where her first tears fell a shoot sprang from Laurelin, and it budded, and the buds were all of gold, and there came light therefrom like a ray of sunlight beneath a cloud.

  Then sped Vána a little way out upon the plain, and she lifted up her sweet voice with all her power and it came trembling faintly to the gates of Valmar, and all the Valar heard. Then said Ómar: “’Tis the voice of Vána’s lamentation,” but Salmar said: “Nay, listen more, for rather is there joy in that sound,” and all that stood by hearkened, and the words they heard were I · kal’ antúlien, Light hath returned.

  Loud then was the murmur about the streets of Valmar, and folk sped thronging over the plain, and when they beheld Vána beneath the Tree and the new shoot of gold then suddenly
did a song of very mighty praise and joy burst forth on every tongue; and Tulkas said: “Lo, mightier have the spells of Yavanna proved than her foretelling!” But Yavanna gazing upon Vána’s face said: “Alas, ’tis not so, for in this have my spells played but a lesser part, and more potent has the gentle love of Vána been and her falling tears a dew more healing and more tender than all the radiance of old: yet as for my foretelling, soon wilt thou see, O Tulkas, if thou dost but watch.”

  Then did all the folk gaze on Laurelin, and behold, those buds opened and put forth leaves, and these were of finest gold and of other kind to those of old, and even as they watched the branch bore golden blossom, and it was thronged with flowers. Now as swiftly as its blossoms opened full it seemed a gust of wind came suddenly and shook them from their slender stems, blowing them about the heads of those that watched like jets of fire, and folk thought there was evil in that; but many of the Eldar chased those shining petals far and wide and gathered them in baskets, yet save such as were of golden threads or of other metals these might not contain those ardent blooms and were all consumed and burnt, that the petals were lost again.

  One flower there was however greater than the others, more shining, and more richly golden, and it swayed to the winds but fell not; and it grew, and as it grew of its own radiant warmth it fructified. Then as its petals fell and were treasured a fruit there was of great beauty hanging from that bough of Laurelin, but the leaves of the bough grew sere and they shrivelled and shone no more. Even as they dropped to earth the fruit waxed wonderfully, for all the sap and radiance of the dying Tree were in it, and the juices of that fruit were like quivering flames of amber and of red and its pips like shining gold, but its rind was of a perfect lucency smooth as a glass whose nature is transfused with gold and therethrough the moving of its juices could be seen within like throbbing furnace-fires. So great became the light and richness of that growth and the weight of its fruitfulness that the bough bent thereunder, and it hung as a globe of fires before their eyes.